


What We Do In the Shadows

by vega_voices



Series: Come Rain, Come Shine [5]
Category: Murphy Brown (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-30 16:11:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15100364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vega_voices/pseuds/vega_voices
Summary: The smell of second hand tobacco prompted an inadvertent inhale from Murphy, sending a rush to the neurons in her brain that so missed her 2 pack a day habit. Most days she was fine. Even being at Phil’s, where she was surrounded by smokers, it wasn’t that hard. But right here, next to her, a smell of smoke and old spice, so familiar, it was hard not to want to stay in the moment. Even if it was coming from Jerry Gold.





	What We Do In the Shadows

**Title:** What We Do In the Shadows  
**Author:** vegawriters  
**Fandom:** Murphy Brown  
**Pairing:** Jerry Gold/Murphy Brown  
**Rating:** Grownups Only Please  
**Timeframe:** _The Gold Rush_ (season 2)  
**A/N:** Some of the dialog is directly from the episode, specifically the scenes at Phil’s, La Rosa’s, and the final scene in Murphy’s home.  
**Disclaimer:** I know that by writing fic, I shoot myself in the foot when it comes to someday being able to write for this universe in a paid way. But that being said, it’s a dream. Until I make that dream a reality though, I’m here, not making a penny off of the characters that Diane English created. She is god, Candice is queen, and I’m over here, just glad they shared something with us.

 **Summary:** _The smell of second hand tobacco prompted an inadvertent inhale from Murphy, sending a rush to the neurons in her brain that so missed her 2 pack a day habit. Most days she was fine. Even being at Phil’s, where she was surrounded by smokers, it wasn’t that hard. But right here, next to her, a smell of smoke and old spice, so familiar, it was hard not to want to stay in the moment. Even if it was coming from Jerry Gold._

It was rare lately that they all felt so comforted after a show. Weeks and weeks of nuclear power meltdowns and rebellions around the world and bankers screwing over customers and politicians screwing over everyone and to be able to report a story on the nuns who delivered hot meals to homebound seniors was just, wonderful. They hadn’t been able to laugh quite like this after a show, and Murphy was reveling in the energy. Sometimes, it was nice just to end on a good note.

“So,” she said, giggling into the high point of her story, “the Congressman goes rushing back to his office with his pants on backwards! His secretary is still in the Xerox room, looking for her blouse!” This scandal would be, after the laughs, the crux of her story next week. But right now, the high from the show had made this a joke, and it felt good to laugh. After all, it was actually pretty boring to uncover yet another “Family values” Republican who was screwing his secretary.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Miles enter the bar, Sister Mary Margaret at his side, and she quickly switched to something so nonsensical that even she couldn’t believe she was saying it. “And then you bake it at 750 degrees for five hours.” No one noticed that it made no sense. It made no sense, right? She had no idea if ovens even went that high. “Oh! Hi, Miles! Sister Mary Margaret …”

Everyone jumped to greet the Sister, who glanced at Murphy with a quick side-eye smirk. Oh, she knew what they’d been talking about. Murphy grinned back, letting the team fawn over the too-sweet-for-words nun. Even Frank liked her, and that was saying something.

The draft from the door and a harsh, familiar smoker’s cough caught her attention. Corky groaned, loud enough that Murphy felt the vibration. “Oh no! It’s Jerry Gold! Don’t look! Don’t look!” Of everyone at the table, Corky had the most honest reason to hate Jerry Gold. He was an asshole to everyone else, but he took special joy in tormenting the young blonde. It bordered on harassment, and one more ill-advised touch and Murphy planned to meet him outside and show him the business end of her fist. All of them hid their faces while Jim explained exactly who Gold was to the nun. She didn’t seem at all surprised. But it was too late.

The smell of second hand tobacco prompted an inadvertent inhale from Murphy, sending a rush to the neurons in her brain that so missed her 2 pack a day habit. Most days she was fine. Even being at Phil’s, where she was surrounded by smokers, it wasn’t that hard. But right here, next to her, a smell of smoke and old spice, so familiar, it was hard not to want to stay in the moment. Even if it was coming from Jerry Gold.

Two months ago, she’d woken from one of her more erotic dreams, sweaty and turned on, every inch of her body tingling. They’d run into each other at a party and spent an hour taunting each other before going their separate ways. She’d finished herself off in shame, but it had still been one of the better orgasms of her life. She’d engaged in her fair share of hate-sex over the years, but the very thought of her subconscious leading her to Gold made her need a hot shower and a skin scrub. Still, she didn’t move away when he sat down after insulting them. She was too busy trying to separate her annoyance from her libido.

“And Sister,” he was saying to the sweet nun that even Frank liked, “can I just say that you have a television presence that puts Sally Field in the toilet.”

Geeze. That was the best he could come up with?

“Gee, Jerry,” she taunted, “shouldn’t you be out saving the oil industry from those pesky environmentalists?”

Damnit. She’d engaged him. She knew better.

“Very good, Brown! Brown made a funny!” He taunted her right back.

Oh this was annoying. But then he returned to his mocking of Corky and while Murphy could handle that he’d tease her - Corky needed a thicker skin - he was touching her again. That was unacceptable. Sadly, Miles’ “I’d take you outside if I hadn’t hurt myself” comment ruined the moment she’d planned where she asked Gold outside and tried to deck him. Instead, Jerry was there, mocking Miles now. God the asshole was annoying.

Frank led the exodus from the table. Murphy stayed. She watched her colleagues rightly storm away, and listened while Jerry told Sister Mary Margaret that he thought the nuns looked better in the penguin suits. She also cheered silently when the Sister called him a schmuck and stormed out. That was impressive. And still, Murphy stayed. The argument at the party had intrigued her - beyond the dream that she was currently reliving. Suddenly they were alone together and she found her body shifting, sliding into flirt mode. He was dangerous, and he was an asshole, and his politics were everything that was wrong with the country and with journalism. Yet. Here she was.

“Well, Jerry. That’s quite a gift. You could clear cockroaches out of a tenement,” she taunted. God. Why the hell was she still sitting here? Teasing him. Telling him she didn’t scare so easy.

“Most men would find you shrill,” he taunted right back. “Pushy? You’re like a rottweiler with a grudge,” he taunted. It took everything in her to not burst out laughing. “Me? I like those qualities in a woman.”

Okay, even she could tell now they were flirting. This was bad and she had to get out. Now. “Oh, please, Jer, I’m blushing,” she teased. It was true. She was blushing. Damnit.

Mercifully, he left to take a call, and she exercised her option of escape. Home. To that hot shower and probably a turn with her vibrator. This was a problem.

Phil stopped her. “Where’d everybody go?”

“A visit from Jerry Gold,” she answered, rolling her eyes as she did so. Away from the smell of tobacco and old spice, she could think more clearly.

“If I didn’t know what I know about Gold,” Phil’s gravelly voice rolled over her, “I wouldn’t let him in the door.”

Shit. What had she missed?

He donated money, good money, to the Hot Meals at Home program. More money in a year than she did to any of her pet causes, which made her feel even worse. Damnit. Were her famous instincts so wrapped up in the competition with Gold that she’d missed something honest and real that was right in front of her? A guy who donated ten grand in one year to one program had a hell of a lot more going on than some grudge against humanity. So she turned and let him ramble about whatever crap he was going to have on his show.

“Jerry, Jerry, Jerry, so convincing,” she taunted as he sat back down. She balanced on the arm of the chair, not intending to stay. Really. She didn’t intend to stay. “This obnoxious loudmouth you do so well, it’s all an act, isn’t it?”

He looked at her and she saw it, the same glance of terror that she found in her interview subjects right before they crumbled. “What are you talking about?” Even his tone and the hunch of his shoulders was different. She had him. She slipped from the arm of the chair back into it and leaned forward.

“Your rather sizeable donation to hot meals at home,” she challenged. “And don’t try to deny it, I heard it from Phil.”

And sitting at the table with him, she found the conversation becoming real. She went from teasing him, from gaining an upper hand, to seeing the person under the mask. Suddenly, she was more than merely intrigued. Suddenly, a part of her, the same part that needed her vibrator probably, wanted to get to know him. It was disgusting. She’d blame the smell of old spice and tobacco later.

“What do you respect, Gold?”

“Nothing!” He chirped. And then he sighed. “No. I respect dissent.”

“Dissent?” She raised an eyebrow. This from the tabloid mogul who liked to parade protestors through his obstacle course of patriotism?

“Yes,” he looked her in the eye. “It makes good things better and bad things crumble.”

Dear god. Dear Sweet God. She could see it in his eyes, this was who he was. He might not agree with her politically, but it was the debate, the passion, that made it work. They agreed on this very specific thing, this need to catch the hypocrites with their pants down. Suddenly, she really needed that vibrator.

But he had to go and she did to and suddenly, standing there, holding her coat, she heard words come out of his mouth that terrified her. Her eyes widened and she almost stepped back. Almost.

“You want me to have dinner with you? If anyone ever saw me having dinner with Jerry Gold, it would ruin my reputation!” She said, loudly, standing in a bar where everyone could see them talking. And then it came. The challenge. She never could turn that down. So she took him up on it, agreed to dinner at seven, and made her way home to a hot shower where she took extra care shaving and after, oiled herself, braided her hair carefully, and went to bed tingling with an anticipation she refused to admit to.

She was going out with Jerry Gold. But it wasn’t a date. It couldn’t be a date. They could never date. Forget what she’d seen under the mask. They couldn’t date. She was a raging liberal, he was a beast of a conservative. It would never work.

Still. Her hand drifted down her body and even though it was more about getting off than the fantasy, she didn’t deny it was Jerry in her mind’s eye while she gasped and collected herself.

***

This was stupid, but he’d be damned if he showed up to this date … dinner … whatever … with roses. Stirling were her favorite, he’d heard. So he’d stood outside the flower shop for ten minutes, trying to convince himself to go in. But it wasn’t a date. Even still, men didn’t show up for dinner without something.

So he ducked into the hardware store instead. Something told him she’d appreciate the hilarity of a roadside emergency kit, so he grabbed it and headed out, walking the block to the restaurant. Through the window, he could see her waiting, fiddling awkwardly with the menus. Her hair was up in a conservative braid that made his fingers twitch and want to undo it, slowly, letting his fingers run through those tresses. . Ever since that dinner a month ago, all he’d wanted to do was find an excuse to see what she looked like when the power suits were cast aside. Her taste in blouses and jewelry told him that under the shoulder pads and pencil skirts there was a sensual woman who knew better than to reveal too many secrets to the world.

She probably wore lace panties.

Groaning, he swallowed his nerves and pushed his way into the restaurant. She looked over as he approached, and he recognized the terror in her eyes. Okay. Good. They were both wondering what the hell this meant.

“Open it,” he said as he put the case on the table. Her eyebrows shot up at the emergency roadside kit, and the air cooled ten degrees when he almost called this a date.

Okay. She’d also thought about not showing up.

Okay. She wasn’t sure what this meant either.

Okay. She served his “you aren’t wearing any panties” quip right back to him.

Okay. So she’d had fantasies about him too.

Okay. She wasn’t a fan of jokes where he decided what they were eating.

Okay. She was as nervous as he was.

Okay. Well.

He leaned over the table and kissed her and fully expected to get slugged in the jaw. Instead, she did exactly what he’d hoped for. She kissed him back. She smelled of Chanel No. 5 and whatever she used in her hair and her skin was so soft he never wanted to stop touching. This was bad. This was terrible. This …

“Let’s get dinner to go …” he murmured before going in for a third kiss.

She shook her head. “Let’s just go …”

Dear God she was intoxicating.

His place was closer, and she followed him, parking down the street. He stood at the entrance to his condo building and as she approached, he grabbed her and pulled her into the foyer and he didn’t give two shits who saw them making out against the mailboxes. Or in the elevator. Or against his door. Years of arguing had really only been foreplay and they were here now, tugging on clothes and trying, desperately, to get closer and closer. He’d worry about everything else later, including how his heart felt free for the first time in years. Right now, he wanted her naked and in his bed and she really didn’t seem to have a problem with that.

***

“We’re good here, right?” He asked, his mouth on her neck. They were finally inside, her back pressed against the door, his hand working the button on her pants.

He needed to ask? The man who pawed at Corky without a moment’s thought was asking her permission? She groaned a yes into his mouth and her blazer and blouse were left on the foyer floor while he all but dragged her to his bedroom.

“Lace,” he said, his nimble fingers unsnapping her bra. “If I’d realized you were a lace woman, I’d have done this years ago.”

She almost tattled on herself, revealed her secret that almost all of her underwear was lace and satin lingerie she wore to make herself feel sexy under all of her boxy suits and professionalism. But better to let him figure it out.  
His mouth was on hers again, the first kiss all over again as he pressed them down onto his unmade bed. Her legs - she was still half clothed - cradled his hips and she rocked up against him, already seeking more contact. But he was focused on her mouth, and only her mouth. She was going to lose her mind.

But he wasn’t there to get it quick and get it done. Murphy gave in to the eternal kiss, her hands tightening on his back while his hips started moving.

“Jerry …” she moaned as he broke for air. Her lips were chapped and she knew it wouldn’t take much to set her off but she let him direct the moment.

“I’ve been waiting way too long to hear that,” he teased, his lips inches from her ear. “Think you could moan like that on the show next week?”

“Shut up,” she laughed, reaching between them to undo his pants. Sliding her hand in, she wrapped her hand around him and stroked slowly, bringing him even more to attention. He groaned and pulled back, his hands reaching for her hips to pull the rest of her clothes from her body. She repaid the favor and when he joined her back on the bed, she stopped him for just a moment, taking him in her mouth and sucking, slowly. It wasn’t her favorite form of foreplay, but somehow, in this moment, it felt right. His hands tangled in her hair and then pulled back, their eyes meeting.

“It’s a turn on,” he taunted her, “having the great Murphy Brown do this for me, but right now, I’m about making you scream.”

“If this is what one kiss leads to,” she said as he rolled them, letting her settle on top of him. She paused only to roll on the condom before slowly lowering her body on to him. The sensation took her breath away for a moment and she let him hold her hips while she adjusted.

“Yes?” He was teasing her.

“Well,” she caught her breath and leaned forward, “I can’t wait to see what tomorrow’s kiss gets me.”

“So you’re saying this can happen again?”

She smirked and arched her back just a bit. “Well, let’s see how tonight goes.”

His laugh matched her and he sat up, adjusting them, and she sank completely onto him. “So far, I think I get a kiss tomorrow too.”

An hour later, she couldn’t catch her breath. He was still working her, his thumb on her clit, his fingers deep inside her and all she could think was that her head was going to explode. Her lasting legacy was that she was found in Jerry Gold’s bed.

She’d take it.

“God!” She groaned and kicked at him, her instincts for survival taking over. He pulled back, smirking at her as he did so. “That was unexpected,” she gasped between breaths.

“You too.”

There it was again, the nerves, the energy, the fear. The awkward pause in the moment. Jerry was everything she shouldn’t be with. He was bold and abrasive and absolutely without elegance or grace. Worse, he mocked the potential of the American public by spoon feeding them pseudo-journalistic crap and laughed all the way to the bank while doing it. But she liked him. He challenged her. And damn if he could make the top of her head come off like that all the time, she’d never leave this bed.

“Confession?” She sat up a bit, her eyes roving over his body.

“I’m always up for that,” he said, continuing to smirk. He was clearly proud of himself. She reached for his hand, the one that had just spent countless minutes (okay it was probably just ten) inside of her and slowly sucked one of the fingers into her mouth. He groaned.

“Well,” she said, releasing the finger from her lips, “that was the best sex I have ever had. And I’m not sure what to do from here.”

“Well, give me about fifteen minutes and I’ll be good to go again. Though I need to get the condoms from the bathroom.” He leaned in and kissed her and Murphy lost herself completely in the moment. When they were acting or arguing and not having to think, this was perfect. She hated that it was, but it was. And she hated that he was everything she was supposed to hate, but she didn’t. He was brilliant and he had real questions and concerns about policies and his way of saying he cared wasn’t to actually say it but to bring presents like a roadside emergency kit instead of roses.

It was utterly intoxicating. Like how he knew just where to get that spot on her jugular and how his fingers danced over the scar from the stray bullet in Libya. He wanted to ask, she knew, but they weren’t there yet. How he liked it when she took control and how he was just as happy to wrangle it back.

They’d been in bed for an hour and she never wanted to leave. She wanted him to keep doing what he was doing. Even if he did need to go get the condoms. Yes, he needed to do that. She pushed him off of her and rolled to the side of the bed. “I’ll be right back,” she said, reaching for the shirt she’d all but torn off when they tumbled into his bedroom. “I’ll bring back the box.”

Okay, maybe it gave her a chance to snoop. How many toothbrushes were hiding out here. How many women wandered through here. She was sure she was another notch on his bedpost and she wanted to pretend that she didn’t care, but she did. She’d had her fair share of casual sex over the years and the older she got, the less she liked it. She didn’t want Jerry to just be a one night stand.

She peed, washed her hands, and spent way too long in the mirror staring at her wrinkles and wishing she was somehow ten years younger all over again. She wasn’t Jerry’s type. Hell. She didn’t know Jerry’s type but she was sure that despite the last hour of her life, it wasn’t a 41 year old liberal loudmouth.

Still, she wanted it to be.

“You fall in, Brown?”

She opened the medicine cabinet. There was the box she was looking for. Simple. Basic. Trojan. Of course. With just a touch of dust. Enough to make her check the expiration on the box. Still good. No extra toothbrushes. No random earrings or lipsticks. Just an extra bottle of Old Spice (she loved Old Spice) and a couple of bottles of listerine and an extra can of shaving cream and bright blue bandaids.

Slowly, she closed the cabinet.

Opening the bathroom door, she walked out, box of condoms in hand, and set them on the bedside table. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, unabashed in his nakedness. His hands took her waist and he pulled her close, leaning in to press a kiss to the spot right between her breasts. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

She blushed.

“How’d you get this?” His fingers trailed the scar on her leg, the one she didn’t like to talk about. The harsh reminder of how many nights she’d spent in bunkers as the only woman. She took his hand and shook her head.  
“We aren’t there yet.”

Somehow, he read her though. And he leaned over and pressed a kiss to her leg. “I’m sorry. But I bet you fought him off.”

“You gotta stop harassing Corky, Gold. It’s not as funny as you think it is.”

Silence. She knew that wasn’t the answer he’d been expecting.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me.” She tilted his head up so he was looking in her eyes. “You need to stop.”

“Don’t make me --”

“You heard me.”

He sucked in a breath and nodded and kissed her thigh again. Moving ever slowly to the thatch of hair between her thighs. His hands tightened around her and she moved in closer, finally pushing him back and straddling him as she settled into his lap.

“We gotta do something about this, Jerry.”

“No,” he said. “Not right now we don’t. Right now it’s about this. Right here. I’ll worry about figuring all of this out in the morning.”

His hand was already caressing her breast and she could only dig her nails into his shoulder while he worked her, his thumb on her nipple. “Fair …” she moaned. Right now, she just wanted night to last as long as possible.

***

He’d never taken her for a morning person (which he learned quickly she wasn’t), but she was up when his alarm went off at six. She’d clearly showered, and was dressed in her camisole and pants and was putting her hair up into a messy ponytail. “I need to get home and change. I have an early meeting with a source …”

Still naked, he rose from bed and walked over to her, pressing his body back against hers. “I want to see you again, Brown.” God please let her feel the same way. God let the source thing not be a cover. But her hands trailed over his and she turned to kiss him.

“Tonight?” She asked, in that voice that sent blood right to his cock. He pressed himself against her, but she pulled away. “I have to go. Really.”

“When tonight?” He asked, collapsing onto the bed, trying to calm his libido. “I … I’ll be late.”

“How late?” She was already at his bedroom door and he couldn’t possibly follow her. But she leaned against the door, one hip cocked, and her eyes were very much focused on his erection. Oh she was an evil woman.

“Nine?” He squeaked out.

“You call that late,” she smirked. “My place. I’ll see you then.”

He held his breath until the door closed. Dear God he was in trouble. This woman would be the death of him. And he was completely okay with that.

***

Two nights ago, he’d spun her around his living room while arguing the finer points of the concepts of universal health care. She’d made him earn a kiss by acknowledging that a society was better off when people could stay healthy and not live in fear of losing their jobs because of being sick. During the fifth song, his guard dropped and he told her about his high blood pressure and cholesterol. During the eighth, she confessed how hard it was to stay sober and how she’d replaced her stress smoking with stress eating. By song ten, she was half naked on the couch. The album finished with her on her knees and Jerry’s fingers tight in her hair. He had the grace to pull her away before he came, barely containing himself while she slipped onto him, forgetting for a moment that if they were smart, they’d protect themselves.

Scheduled had kept them from being together last night, but that hadn’t stopped a breathless 1 AM phone call where he described, in detail, what he wanted to do to every inch of her body.

Tonight, they’d barely made it through dinner and an argument about the electoral college before he had her pressed into her couch, her skirt hiked over her hips and his pants undone just enough to give them access. Her only acknowledgement to civility had been checking to make sure Eldin’s truck was gone before she jumped on Jerry. Neither of them were getting any work done.

She didn’t care. Not when he could do what he did to her neck. Not when his fingers were already inside of her, his thumb pressing against her clit. They’d had lunch together too, which had led to barely touching their sandwiches in place of a long and lingering makeout session at his office - which was a huge risk but she’d managed to escape unseen. This rush to orgasm was a result of his hands up her skirt earlier today, the teasing phone call around three promising this exact scenario, and the way he’d touched her during dinner.

“I’m too old for the floor,” he groaned, pulling her up onto his lap. “But this image of you looking like this … it’s gonna keep me for a while.” They separated long enough for him to retrieve the condom from his wallet (she wasn’t making that mistake again) before finally coming together.

“I hope the dry cleaner can get that stain out,” she teased once she’d caught her breath. He just smirked at her. “I’m going to go change,” she responded, kissing him.

Upstairs, she shed her tousled suit for a satin nightgown she knew Jerry would love. She hadn’t had reason to wear it in years, and her body had changed slightly so it fit differently, but it still showed off her legs. Really, she didn’t expect she’d be wearing it that long. She washed her face and tried to catch her breath.

She felt younger, somehow. Freer. And it wasn’t just because she was getting laid, but she could see already that this relationship - and it was a relationship already - could be something real. It terrified her, but for once, in a good way.

Slowly, she descended the stairs. Jerry had started up the fire and put on some music, low and romantic. He was sitting there in his undershirt and boxers, and he pulled her down onto the couch next to him.

“You’re absolutely amazing,” he murmured, his lips again finding her neck. “And I don’t just mean in the sack.”

She sighed into her response, the “You too,” lost in his lips on hers. God, he was everything she shouldn’t be with, but he was everything she craved. Whip smart, challenging, and actually caring once you ripped the mask away. He didn’t drink with dinner, didn’t smoke around her, and gave a damn about the stories she was working on. His devotion to his tabloid disaster had zero to do with the story and everything to do with ratings.

“Someday I’ll be able to afford to do what I want,” he said, rubbing her feet one night. “Well, I can now. But I’d rather not break off my contract. Next year though, I’m done. I want to do something that people take seriously.”

The admission had startled her, showing her an even deeper side of him. This was dangerous and terrible and so very, very, very bad. She was dating Jerry Gold. It was going to ruin her reputation. And she wasn’t quite committed to him enough to reveal it to the world.

Yet.

But when he made love to her neck like that, when he read to her from mutual favorite classics, when he took her hand and smiled, she could almost find ways to justify it to everyone.

Almost.

***

Ten days. Ten days they’d been going on. For Jerry, it was almost a record. He suspected it was for Murphy. Ten days of watching her eyes light up over some small thing, of arguing with her and almost always being proved wrong but not caring, of seeing how she asked for meat to be taken out of what she ordered so it wouldn’t tempt him, of knowing that she was walking a fine line. But really, it was way too difficult for him to sneak a present into her office without the world seeing her. He’d had to bribe the mail guy to get the toy whale and greenpeace boat to her before she made it to work.

She wasn’t a slave to public opinion, no, but the network was. She was known for dating high profile men who wouldn’t hurt her image. Well, except for the rumors about Jake Lowenstein but those couldn’t be true. Not even Murphy was that stupidly liberal. But he was getting tired of only going to one restaurant or getting takeout and as much as he loved burying himself inside of her once they were alone together, he knew the reason they spent so much time indoors was because she was nervous about what would happen when word got out. And it would. Photographers followed her more than either of them liked to admit. She was a star, and a beautiful one.

So here they were again, at La Rosa’s, arguing over nuclear proliferation and it just came out. He needed something more. He needed more than halfway decent pasta and amazing sex. He wanted her to risk what her so called open minded friends would think when it came out.

“This is the only place we ever go!” He shot back, wincing at the whining tone in his voice. Yeah, that was mature. But, she backed down.

“Maybe I have been being secretive about us … but that stops now.”

He released a breath. “Thanks,” he said, meeting her eyes. “Thank you.” He hadn’t known until that moment what it meant to him that she’d take him seriously. And that was what this was really about. Being taken seriously. And when she kissed him to shut him up, he knew just how in trouble he really was. Because he wanted to keep kissing her forever.

“Okay, I’m going to suggest something stupid.”

They were at her place for coffee and she was kicking him out so she could get some work done, which meant he had to bend her over the counter before he left. Already he was behind her, sliding her skirt up her legs.

“You realize that when you gasp and moan like you do, I’ll agree to anything, right?”

She turned in his arms, her hands on his chest. “I mean this. Listen to me for a second.” He took a breath and stepped back. “What if …” she groaned and rolled her eyes. “Look. I need to tell my coworkers about us before I let any kind of cameras catch us, okay?”

“Why? Because they’re going to hate me?”

“Yes, Jerry. They do.” She sighed. “You really push the wrong buttons with them. Jim, especially. And she’s an airhead, but we’re protective of Corky.”

“And Frank hates me …?” Jerry smirked. He knew it wasn’t because Frank was in love with Murphy. Even he wasn’t that juvenile. But he felt like the man could be a kindred spirit if he wanted to be.

“Because you’re a pushy bastard,” she chuckled. Jerry laughed. “And I can’t promise they’ll come around. But, I’ll tell them in the morning and maybe … this weekend …”

“What? Have a meet and greet where I’m on my best behavior and they’re on theirs and we pretend we can get along?” He felt the sarcasm slipping into his tone and winced at it. He knew this was important to her. And it was hard for her too.

“Well, yes,” she challenged. “Look, I know the man under the mask. I wish they could too.”

“Brown,” he said, kissing her lightly, “I don’t like it when people know the man under the mask.”

“Will you at least try?”

He sighed, nodding, his hands on her waist. “Yes. For you. Because you’re willing to … do this.”

“Do what? Stop sneaking around corners with you?” She leaned in for a kiss. The comment made his heart swell. “I’d like it if you could pick me up for lunch or we could go to a party together. I’m not sure how things will be but … I like us, Jerry. And I want us to matter.”

He kissed her again and again and again. The queen of the liberals was willing to acknowledge his beastly self was worthy. Yeah, it was a turn on. Behind them, the coffee brewed, and when Murphy gasped his name, he was able to forget the sense of impending doom that had crept in during the conversation. Performative niceness was not exactly something he was skilled at.

***

Murphy managed to hold on until she heard his car pull away. Once she was sure of the silence, she crashed down into the couch, unleashing the sob that had been building since she realized her two lives just couldn’t work.

“You see, Brown,” he’d said, staring more at her knees than into her eyes, “we’re opposites.”

They weren’t. It was his way of shielding his heart. His way of making room for the inevitable. Because under his layer of knowing the human species was doomed, he did hope. Well, he wanted to hope. He wanted a safe world for two daughters he would never see again. He wanted for his parents to be looked after. He wanted, somehow, to be happy.

So she’d stood up, holding that damn bouquet in her hands that was actually really pretty, baby’s breath included, and said, “I guess this is where one of us says it was fun while it lasted …” they’d looked at each other. “I hate that.”

So he’d left. Because a life with her was fine, but only so long as it was just them. Because he was too scared to drop his guard and she was too scared to let him. Because as much as she wanted to have him know her friends, she also knew she didn’t trust him not to touch Corky or insult Jim. They’d moved too fast. She’d screwed it up.

And that’s where the tears were based. Not that he’d walked out, but that she’d screwed it up and she couldn’t just call him and beg him to come back because he’d seen the truth. That she still didn’t trust him to be on that best behavior he’d promised in her kitchen the other night. She didn’t trust him not to go off on Frank or mock Miles. So she’d diverted and controlled and worn a damn apron and turned into her mother and she hated herself for it.

So she cried. Because he was almost perfect. Except in the ways that he wasn’t. And she knew better, but she didn’t know enough. She was good at her job. That was it. And everything in her wanted to call him, to apologize. But it was best left right where they had.

It was fun while it lasted.


End file.
